


Little Death

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Almost Human, The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: But he is, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Oh hell, References to Shakespeare, Talk about death, he's not dorian, hybrid fic, just read the thing, not almost human, not really Riddick either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He volunteered to save his people ... and now he belongs to the Lord Marshall.</p>
<p>Written in response to Katya's prompt: “Planet is occupied by Lord Vaako. He gathers all the planet’s “high counsel” what’s left and says that there is a tradition that a victor take a willing offering as a sign of full capitulation. He chooses Dorian a high counselor, who understand that from his actions the faith of the whole planet depends on.. so nothing “willing” here… just a cool calculation from both sides. No lust or “oh he’s bad but he’s so hot” just “I need to go through this for my people”.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> so, yeah, this is a strange hybrid thing in response to the prompt. No clue where it came from or where it's going. I don't know all that much about the Chronicles of Riddick series, just that Karl Urban wears guyliner and DAYUM that armor. ;D

Inspired by these pics:

 

“You aren’t like the others, are you?” Vaako asked the kneeling figure. The question had bothered him during the aftermath of the battle, the cleanup, and the beginning of the conversion process.

“I am not.” He didn’t look up, head bowed towards the floor, the perfect picture of complete submission. Hands behind his back, knees spread slightly, torso straight, he awaited the Lord Marshall’s command.

“Why? I thought all counselors were cybernetics.” One of the reasons he expected quick capitulation from the planet; this race prized logic and reason so much they’d created half-machine, half-humans and gave them the role of providing counsel to the human ruler.

“An ounce of compassion,” he replied, voice calm and unperturbed. That was all he said.

“Explain,” Vaako ground out.  “And look at me when you speak.”

Clear blue eyes lifted up and fixed their gaze upon him. “All rulers much have an ounce of compassion to balance rationality. Some decisions are best made when informed by emotion. If left to the others, we would have not have accepted your terms of surrender. The chance a large enough percentage of the population would survive the conversion wasn’t big enough to warrant the risk of loss of technology.”

“They would have let the people die to protect your secrets?” Vaako scoffed. “A good thirty percent was saved by your intervention.”

“As I said, not high enough when weighed logically.” A single eyebrow raised.

“You didn’t see it that way?”

“No. I value life above all else. Thus, I chose to offer myself in trade.”

Vaako thought about that for a moment, his eyes tracing the lines of the leather jacket and pants the man wore. “Are you human then?”

“Almost.” A ghost of a smile at the edges of his mouth appeared. “It is a long story. Suffice it to say that I feel, eat, and breathe as a human does. I have the same needs. I am just … enhanced … in certain areas.”

He could see it now, the almost too perfect curve of the man’s cheek, the smooth line of his neck, the jewel like color of his eyes. “They would sacrifice the whole to save technology and yet you freely give yourself to me to take apart and learn what makes you tick?”

His mouth quirked. “I am outdated and considered useless by the others. They would count my loss as a small price to pay. To them, compassion is weakness.”

Vaako thought about that, the short sighted nature of so many. Before him, the last Necromonger Lord Marshall had been that way, too focused on protecting himself to see the real danger from the man who killed him.  “What is your name,” he asked.

“I am D’rian,” he replied.

“Are you not scared of me? What I will do to you?” Vaako leaned down, drawing his face closer. He knew what the other man saw in his eyes, the cold, dead stare of one barely living, one who desired the underverse, to leave this existence. That look had scared the strongest of men. This one didn’t flinch, just let the laser focus of his gaze read everything writ large there.

“Of course I am. I know of your religion, what happens to conquered peoples. But I also know that, once a race is defeated and converts, you allow them to live. That’s why I accepted your proposal.” His hands slid around and caught the lapels of his jacket, dragging it open, barring an expanse of dark skin from neck to navel. Tilting his head away from Vaako, he presented the vulnerable line, a universal symbol for submission. “I submit to you, Lord Marshall. Do with me as you will.”

Such calm, more so than he had seen.  Men had raged, had cried, even screamed themselves hoarse; none had waited patiently for him to end their existence, offered up the option without hesitation. His fingers reached of their own accord, grazing over the bone and muscle, sinuous and smooth. So easy, just a sharp blade and one slice. This was what Vaako knew; how many ways a man can die.

 “What do your people believe happens after death?” Vaako asked.  That earned him a sideward glance before the eyes dropped again. Standing, he walked around behind and laid his hands on the counselor’s shoulder.

“Another life, one with no pain, no tears, no worry,” he answered softly.

Hands curled around D’rian’s neck, snug against the fragile bones. An intake of breath from D’rian, and Vaako felt the surge of satisfaction to get that much of a response.

 “Death,” Vaako said,” is not just the end of life. Some believe that Death exists in tiny increments, orgasmic moments when you cross into the Underverse. A little death.”

“The petit morte,” D’rian agreed. “A very old idea.”

It was strangely relaxing, to watch D’rian; far from humiliated, D’rian’s consent was arousing in a way that Vaako didn’t expect.  Obedience that was natural and yet willing was a heady brew. The arch of back, turn of the head, rise and fall of the chest, and lights reflected in the dark hues of his skin.

Struck by the thought, Vaako dropped his hands and stepped away. “I’m not going to kill you swiftly. Every day, you shall die little by little until you understand.”

“Understand what?” He turned his face towards Vaako, looked him in the eyes.

“That death is a consummation to be devoutly wished,” he said. “That it is pain and pleasure and fear and desire. And I am the one who’s going to teach you that.”

                                                                            


End file.
